Erased From The System
by ThemSoundWaves
Summary: (M) Prowl couldn't have prevented it, no matter how many times he replanned that day. He could've moved fast. Tried harder. He could've thrown himself into those flames, he could've saved his brothers life..But he didn't. And now, Many vorns later, he was witnessing the full damage of his mistake. *NON-CON, VERY SENSITIVE THEMES! CHILD ENSLAVEMENG* don't like, don't read or comment
1. Chapter 1

_***** Just this first chapter took weeks for me to write out and edit myself... I think it turned out well. But I'm sure I missed a few things. Yes, I know, authors notes are always boring but i'm gonna have to ask you guys to stick this one out with me. _

_For a while my muse has come and gone in tiny blotches, and though I haven't been updating my stories nearly as much as I'd like, it's difficult for me to focus on. However, because of Roleplaying and the help from a few friends- I feel like ill be able to get pretty far with this story. I have also written some chapters In advance so that you, my readers, won't have to wait months at a time for another chapter._

_**AS OF NOW, THIS STORY HAS NO PLOT.** sorry guys, another part on my muse. I will try my best to incoppurate SOMETHING special into this fanfiction. But bare with me until that happens. _

_This story is AU. It begins during the first few cycles before the war truly began, though, just a reminder that the events in G1 (and other universes) that start the war isn't entirely true for this. to make this story... easier, persay. ive sort of created my own beginning for this. However much I would hate to admit: I've never actually watched past the first episode of G1 (couldn't stand the graphics.) most of my information on Transformers is gained through other Fanfictions, and other universes. _

_Aside from the first chapter- this story gets VERY dark, VERY fast. If your squeamish then I recommend you back out now. _

_***Other Notes.***_

_Before anyone objects and decided to stomp on me for this- Prowl is slightly OOC in this chapter. I couldn't quite grasp just what he'd be like as a young child, or, in the situation he was put in. _

_Other then that. Enjoy the story, Feedback is greatly appreciated and MIGHT alter the story line depending on the circomestances. _

_All song lyrics (otherwise stated.) Are created by me personally for this fanfiction. _

_Enjoy the first chapter and tell me what ya think! _

_ It's been way to long_

_ I thought you were gone_

_ My hope was always numb. _

_ Now you come to me. _

_ Struggling to breathe. _

_ "Where were you?"_

_ "And why weren't you beside me?"_

_'They found him.'_

Three words, three completely, unexpected words Prowl never thought he would ever hear. Although the words had been vague, and not at all informative. Prowl new exactly what they meant, he knew exactly who this 'him.' Was. He just... He just couldn't believe it.

The tactical expert could not explain his feelings, or what they were just then. It could have been excitement, maybe anticipation, there was defiantly some worry.

Never had three words struck him so hard in the spark, Three words, alone, had never gave such an impact. Especially on him.

_They found him_.

They... Really had found him. After all this time...

He raced from the tactics room like like a bull out of hell (inside the aircraft base on earth, in which, the Autobots had taken refuge in soon after the human-bot alliance was formed.) Confused and clueless autobots stepped aside, their optics to attention, unknowing if Prowls full out sprint was for an alert. They remained there, stunned, until the doorwinger had disappeared around the corner.

He didn't need a map to see where he was going. He knew every step of the way.

Prowl threw open the doors to the small medical bay, his thoughts jumbled, his confused feelings bouncing around in his spark...

But feelings of joy and happiness left in a puff, in favor of the cold hard truth. He was confused, scared, and he was... angry.

The Bluestreak he had once taken care of, his little brother...

This was _not_ him.

Animalistic screeches pierced the audios of the medics, and anyone within radius of the medbay doors. Nubbed fingers clawed at the lining of the berth, wrinkling and shredding the new sheets. Crystal blue energon was already soaking its soft fabric from the missing tips on the silver digits.

Not one spot on the bot was left unmarked. His headlights were shattered, half cut wires sending sparks into the air. Most of the glass on his form was missing, leaving flakes and single triangles left to hang on their own. Bluestreaks paint was charred, parts were melted off, others left grossly colored radiation -and infection- seething from the wounds the acid burn had created.

like the topping on a cake, gashes and ragged claw marks littered the entire mass of his frame. some had stopped oozing energon; others had reopened, and bled down to the nape of his back. Both his legs had been pulled from their original ballstruts, and broken at the hip. they had been repositioned, and healed at a very, unpleasing angle.

Spread, baring the left over tips of sharp metals that had once made up his interface panel. Someone had pried the hatch off, like they were desperate to get inside.

Prowls optics wondered despite his fight to stop them. A truly sick feeling rose up from the bowels of his tanks.

There... Was _nothing there_.

A stub- a angry looking tangle of tiny wires, all burned and splintered at the end. His mech hood, the very thing that _made_ him a mech.

His spike.

It was... _gone_.

This could _NOT_ be Bluestreak.

An otherworldly scream jolted Prowl right out of his panic, the sturdy mech had actually stumbled back, struck numb by the breaks in his little brothers cries. There was so much pain in its sound. So much trauma.

Bluestreak leered foreword, hands outstreched, he tried to grab at both Ratchet, and First aid. Energon foamed from his mouth, dripping down his chin like some kind of rabid predator after a fresh kill.

His blue optics were crazed with hunger, the young mech spoke, mumbled, and wailed words, but the sentences were gibberish, they were toned with hatred and tinted with famine.

Prowl stood there. His optics uncharacteristically wide. his doorwings were lifted up high on alert, and at the same time they were slightly tilted with worry, he was unsure what to do. He wanted to run up to his brother, he wanted to show that soft side of him, the side one no one had seen. He wanted to show it to his little brother as he laid on that table.

But he was also afraid to... This was an animal, the torture had completely ruined him. DEGRADED him. Whoever had done this... turned Bluestreak into... _This_.

Anger gripped the SIC, his hands clenched into fists, his teeth gridded together. The thought broke into a million pieces, in result of this: His door wings trembled. Ratchet had sensed the dramatic change of atmosphere, and looked up just in time to see the rabid snarl set on Prowls lips.

"Whoever did this..." Growled Prowl, Ratchet actually stood up, he put one hand up in surrender. Sibling protocalls. It comes with family protection. If a spark-sibling felt the need to protect the other...

Well. Try taking Sideswipe from Sunstreaker.

Blue optics alight, he pointed strait down, and in a deadly smooth voice, he snarled. "Consider them erased from the system."

-_Six vorns earlier, Cybertron. Iacon city. 12:30 AM.-_

Sturdy hands diligently wrapped the blue and gold wrapping paper around a small box. It was set on a small table, with supply's laid out around it. Prowl was seen much younger in this. His door wings moved with emotion, his optics shined lively, with joy and anticipation for the next coming hours.

Today was his little brothers spark day.

Usually, around this time of morning Prowl would be working impeccably, as Optimus Primes right hand man, he'd trained for years in the accadamy as a tactical expert. And after those years of hard work, the Prime had seen him fit to help.

War was over the horizon. The streets were tight, citizens were afraid. Prowl had been lucky when he decided to move him, and his little brother from Paraxis to Iacon city. Not only was his home now closer to his workplace, the hall of primes... but they had also narrowly missed a devistating attack against his home city, that left little to no survivors.

They had been lucky. Very lucky.

But life as they knew it was due to move on, press foreword in an endless ring of fury. The golden age was drawing towards its end, and the era of war was soon to begin. It was now, when Prowl realized just how much his little brother meant to him. Just how desperately he wanted to keep the door winger close. If the war was to start, Bluestreak would be right beside him when it did. He would protect him, he would with every fiber of his being.

Finished, the small spark day package was finally wrapped up and decorated. Prowl had never been a very artistic 'bot. But Bluestreak was worth the glitter and glue that fell from his frame when he moved, he was worth the patches of tape that stuck to his digits.

For about ten vorns now Prowl and Bluestreak had lived on their own after the brutal murder of their caretakers. It hadn't been easy at first. Poverty, starvation. They'd lived on the streets for nearly a vorn until his caretakers will was finally varified.

They went from poor to riches in less then a month. A babysitter was highered to watch Bluestreak when Prowl was off on his long overnight stays at his academy. The mech threw himself head long into his work, determined to gain a job that could support both him and his brother once the money from their caretakers ran out.

They were doing pretty well now. It was a drastic change, but it was for the better.

Black and white stood up, Prowl stretched his struts out for a moment- sitting so long had crammed him up, but, with his taticts work now with Optimus Prime, and cybertrons law emforcment district, He sat a lot more then he would like.

He took a long look around the nicely fit, three bedroom home. The walls were white, and the kitchen was left wide open to view from the door. Furniture scattered across the living room making it look homely and clean, the bright lights lit up the room almost as if the building itself had a sun to support it.

With a content sigh, Prowl went about turning off these soothing lights, package tucked beneath the crook of his arm strut. And once the lights had all been shut off, Prowl left and locked the door.

Usually, Prowl would refrain from visiting Centuries Elementary, one of the highest income schools in Iacon's district. Simply because children made him... Uneasy. He could stand Bluestreak, without a doubt, he was his little brother. However, other sparklings made his wings rise stiffly above his helm. They way they stared at him- stared up at his optics as if they were staring into his very soul... Those large, glistening optics. optics that watched his every move, calculating every valuable part in his body, targeting ways to gain his attention...

Maybe...He was over thinking it.

Yes. He was over thinking it.

Prowl transformed down into his black and white enforcers alt mode. Prowl was, after all, a rookie in the enforcers as well as Optimus's personal strategist. The law was one of those things that Prowl had always been submitted to. His sire had been an enforcer. Prowl had grown up obeying- and respecting- all the laws written out to him.

Prowl also was an expert at proving these laws as well, he proved his skills each day that he worked.

Prowl drove down the busy highway, other bots coming to his sides as the lanes multiplied, signs flew by past his helm pointing in different counties inside the main city. It was pretty nice, Iacon was a large city. A busy city, yes. But it had its spaces. It was also home to many of Cybertrons important members. The Prime, Magnus, and Alpha Trion lived In this city. Not only making it privileged, but well known and adored by Cybertrons inhabitants.

It was like an instinct, Prowl imedetly knew something was wrong the second his speed dropped past fifty to accommodate the ahead vheicals pace. It took no more then a few clicks for his tires to meet a complete stop. Confused, the rookie enforcer hadn't been the only one to transform up to get a view of just what had caused the road block.

It seamed to strech on for miles. There was a giant sea of mechs and femmes mostly in their bipedals. The doorwinger tipped up on his pedes to attempt to look past the crowed. And then, someone screamed.

Everyone's helms swiveled to pinpoint the source of the bloodcurling noise. at first, Prowl did not know what the problem was. that was, until he saw the tiny, hardly noticable dot in the sky a few miles away.

Prowl knew, as well as the other cybertronians around him- that a flying dot in the sky only meant ine thing.

Seekers.

Realization struck the massive crowed of colors. Questionable mumbles rose from the endless stream, which turned into a tremendous yelling fit. the first panicked scream drew another, and another, and another, until all he could hear were the sounds of panick and terror around him. then Prowl could hear the hiss of a seekers engine. A distant rumble tickled the bottom of Prowls pedes, then another, but this time, the quake had a sound.

Everyone was screaming now, they pushed and shoved others out of the way, all scrambling to get away from the highway-bridge, and onto sturdy ground.

Though, none of them stood a chance. They made it mere steps before the assending Seeker streaked overhead, releasing two oval casings from its bottom, the two objects dropped, whistling while they decended.

Prowls breath caught, everything seamed to slow down, for nearly everyone, he hardly had enough time to take a step before the bombs impacted fourty feet in front of him, into the bulk of the innocent crowed.

However far away he might have been, the blast wave was strong, he felt someone or, rather someTHING, slam into him.

He didnt know what happened. One moment he was standing, the next, he laid on his back atop the unfortunate soul who'd been behind him.

His audios rang, the panicked screams swam in and out of his range. The floor beneath him rippled with the thunder of yet another explosion.

"SEEKERS!"

Automatically the shocked daze left Prowl in a click, he snapped into a sitting postion, door wings alert, he was already pushing himself to his feet. Bots ran past him, trying to flea from the direction Prowl had been heading for originally.

He looked up: his feet already moving foreword. Soon he was sprinting down the road, panicked civilians pushing past him to get to safety. The bomber had turned around, and circled for another round.

Prowls ion blaster transformed forth, hands shaking, the shocked bot threw up his hands and aimed.

The shot was loud, one, followed by three others. The last of the three shots made impact, clipping the silver jet's extended wing. In a desprate attempt to continue the attack, the jet dropped his cargo, before he swerved mid air and crashed into the distance.

Ground contact. Prowl could see it: even if it only lasted for a second. Fire engulfed his vision. For a moment he felt a small sting, during that tiny moment he could smell burning paint, he could taste the sultry ash on his glossia...

_CRACK__**!**_

All noise stopped, in the snap of a digit his vision was black. For a brief nanoclick prowl had been swallowed by comeplete and utter silence. No more screams, no clatter of armor or clanking of rushing pedes. There was no jet engine. He couldn't even hear his own gears turning. He was fully self-aware of this, and for a moment Prowl debated on wether or not he was in fact, Deactivated.

The warbled wail of a siren swam through his audios. The sound set forth a new wave though his systems. Ever so slowly his processor rebooted. Smoke. All he could see was smoke. They were either lumps, or bodies that laid in a blurr on the highways front. A blink, a grey sky replaced his vision. Prowl struggled to sit up, as more and more smoke clouded him, choking him, wafting into his intakes. He coughed, and coughed, and coughed. Unable to syphon the fumes. He felt the ground beneath his knees with half-num fingers. With willpower and determination alone he used his slightly damaged, scraped servos to push himself to his feet, a flicker of orange nicked his pherperial sight. Prowl darted foreword wether or not his body was ready for it.

Those were the largest flames Prowl had ever seen. They rose above the sky and weaved in and out through the clouds. From what he could see, the entire street block before him was over growing with these milticolored flames.

Right in front of him.

**Oh primus... ****_Bluestreak_****. **

Prowl ran, unable to transform down do to how many obsitcals were in his way. His intakes squealed in a desprate plea for mercy, strained from the smoke that lingered inside. His engine sputtered, he wasn't sure which way was up or down but for some reason his pedes led the way.

He was aware of those around him calling him away. Struggling to survive through the rabid attack they'd been subjected too. Some of the Fire Force pushed inside, spraying watered down coolant into the flames, doing there best in trying to get as many to safety as they could. Prowl thought he saw Inferno throwing himself into a blazing building, but the home itself rushed by in a blurr with his speeds.

And then he saw it, the one thing he had never wanted to see.

Centuries elementary was smoldering, red hot and melting. Beneath a thick, dense blanket of raging blue flames. It was so sickeningly clear that the school had been a key target in the Decepticons carpet bomb attack. Whatever rubble was hanging onto the building flourished, and dropped to the charred ground. The vibrations and cracking, thundering noise only added to the splitting chaos.

Limpid fear wracked through Prowls very system. It traveled to his very core as if the fear itself were the spreading blue flames before him. However acidic this fear may have been, the feeling did not burn his wires; instead, it froze them. Encased his fragile lifeblood inside icy, freezing pillars of liquid nitrogen. Prowls frame trembled, the freezing sensation took its coarse and managed to alight his entire body in icy tendrils in less then a second.

He found he could not move. He could not think. His processor wanted to rush into that building: that burning _school_. He wanted to play hero and search throughout the fire and the flames for the only family he had left~

But he couldn't.

The metophorical Ice had frozen his pedes to the ground. Shock kept him rooted in place. His spark pumped, quaked, and quivered warnoutly. The once pristine white and black paint that had adorned his frame was now bleeding, and bubbling freely down his shaking body. The two bland colors merged together, black overpowering the white, turning the blistering chemicals into a soggy, depressing grey.

Cybertrons low gravitational field proved that it was working addiquatley, by pulling Prowls tired, and physically shocked body down onto the sut covered road top. On instinct the strategists servos sprang out to catch his fall. Avoiding facial impact. Weak Fuzzy and patchy optic relays met the roads top. During his desprate plight to fully understand the situation, his spark had already fallen into a simple, but drastic conclusion.

He was too late.

By the looks of it, Bluestreak was dead. Along with whomever had been inside that school. Poor, defenseless, innocent sparklings.

Dead.

...All of them.

Six peices of glass were scattered below him, a thick splotch of unprocessed energon oozed atop one of these pieces. Prowl had No clue if the energon was that of a child, or his own precious lifeblood.

He couldn't bare to think of it.

His systems gave a faint wail at the very thought of just who's energon it could have been. For some strange, unknown reason it was all his processor could dwell upon, in those moments of shock and desperation, he was in such a unwilling haze that his mind had tried to destract him from the flames that nicked at his armor and burned his mech flesh.

Red flashed somewhere in his vision but Prowl, for the life of him, could not tell if the sudden color was that of the fire, or his systems alerting him. However, he did realize, shortly, that he was taking heavy damage that he simply could _not_ feel. His cooling fans could not atone for the rapid overheating of his core systems.

His optics were now failing him. He felt faint, dizzy, and the clouds of smoke that wagged into his intakes did not help the tingles and the lightheaded feeling he felt. The smoke reeked of death, it even tasted as so. And Prowl realized just then, that no matter how hard he scrubbed an washed his mouth, the taste would never leave him.

As the flames rose higher above the black clouds a single doorwinged frame collapsed from stress and strain. His body positioned helplessly before the school in which the lone autobots last family member was sought to be deactivated. The flames continued to spread until they had completley obstructed the figure from view.

Not the view of everyone, it seamed. For a splash of red armour was seen, sprinting into the flames whilst battering at the force with feeble, but strong arms. That large frame had surcombed to the same bitter energon fire that had taken Prowl.

'If_ I burn, will you burn with me?_

_ If I fall, will you catch me? _

_ My spark can't fight, and in my plight,_

_ I find no one here to help me._

_ If I die, will you come with me?_

_ If I leave, will you leave with me?_

_ For at this time, I cannot lie,_

_ No one else can help me. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! Welcome to another chapter of this traumatizing little piece here- I forgot to mention in the first chapter that I do NOT own transformers. So let's make that clear. I don't own transformers. Never have, and I never will. **

**Aside from that, I enjoyed the feedback a few if you gave me, though, it wasn't nearly as much as I expected. I'm not going to complain. I'm just here to provide entertainment. ;) **

**Anyway. As you'll tell from now on this story will be set in the past. Ya'll gonna have to wait to see what happened after the first chapters bit. Don't fret, however! You will get to see the end for this one! **

**All song lyrics, otherwise stated, are owned by me and are personally created for this Fan-Fiction. I do not own transformers. I own the plot, though. **

**Enjoy the second chapter and leave a review! However small- I'd like to see how I'm doing! **

_No sound or racket no chime of a _

_ bell._

_ What have I seen,_

_ What does this mean?_

_ Is the world blackened or am I in _

_ Hell?_

_ Is this a dream? _

_ And Why can't I scream? _

_ My throat it tightens and I know _

_ quite well. _

_ I hadn't forseen_

_ This disaster seen,_

_ And now I suffer the lies that he _

_ tells, _

_ He yells, oh, he yells._

_ Welcome to hell._

Self-awareness slowly crept through the black haze of his processor, his body felt light with the tiny tingles that sizzled around in his wires. An 'All systems reboot' light flashing blinding red in his vision and before Prowl knew it, he was staring up at an orange ceiling.

Monitors beeped around him, the smell of burnt energon and paint hit him and his nasal ridge curled up, his lip soon following suit.

First processed thought: Prowl had only seen this medical bay once before. The orange walls were unmistakeable, he was on the _Ark_.

...why was he on the _Ark_?

Prowl groaned as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Those once blurry figures became clear again as his optics adjusted. He saw medics, a few he knew off hand, some he didn't recognize. He did, however, see one medic that he knew quite well.

"Ratchet." The wince was eminent, Prowl's voice sounded like it had taken too many trips to the grinder. He cleared his throat hard.

Ratchet turned from a patient when his name was called. His face flashed with irritation for a single moment, before he abandoned his post and walked towards Prowls medical berth. The previous wounded Autobot was soon being attended too once more, by one Prowl knew was called First Aid.

"Ratchet?" Prowl hummed again, this time clearer, the medic shushed him shortly before checking to make sure every tube was still in place.

"Prowl, you have third degree burns from your pedes up, you shouldn't be moving." Black servos gently, but warningly, 'helped' Prowl back into his laying position. The door-winger huffed, his once white and black, but now silver door wings flattening against the metal painfully.

Prowl's thoughts were just now settling in, there had been a bombing... An attack. The last thing he remembered...

"Bluestreak!" Jolting up, the young Prowl struggled to scamper from the berth top. Ratchet had been there, however, expecting it and with a push he pinned the twisting rookie down to the cold metal.

"Prowl, listen to me. Remain still or I will restrain you." However panicked Prowl had been, at the verbal threat from the medic, the black and white knew better. He ceased his struggling and flattened stiffly against the medic's berth.

Formulating words seamed the biggest problem for him. Prowl was usually good when it came to speaking. However, he _WAS_ a mech, not a drone. All he could feel was worry and shock for his little brother. It was overwhelming.

"Ratchet. Bluestreak. Where's Bluestreak?" A grim look passed briefly on his superior's face. Dread crept into his systems from the very air around him. The look was a nano-click long but Prowl had still caught it. His vocalizer seamed to freeze solid, tightening it to the point where it was hard and hurt to swallow.

"I don't know what happened to him Prowl. We had orders to fall back. The seekers levelled Iacon in minutes. We were outnumbered... Ironhide was on his way here, to the_Ark_, when he found you." The medic leaned over with a tube of solvent and a cloth. He began to wipe a clear coat onto Prowls burn wounds. The touch was oddly comforting to Prowl, who's processor was on the verge of crashing.

"We have to go back." Prowl mumbled, unsure at first. But after a quick second thought Prowl was soon repeating this sentence, louder, more firm. A couple wounded Autobots gazed across the room at his voice.

"We can't go back, were in deep space. I know it's hard but get a hold of yourself! The war just hit its starting point. If we go back it'll be a swift ending, and a pathetic history." Ratchet shook Prowl briefly, a bit too roughly. The slight worrisome pain that lit up his systems from the wake up shake, did in fact cause him to snap his mouth shut and calm down, at least, just a little bit.

Though, Prowl could not help the zoned out gaze that crossed his features when Ratchet's words finally sunk in.

And they did sink in, deep in. Strait down into the blackness of his processor they burn themselves into his files like scorching hot melting metal.

Everything just went... Blank. He felt nothing. Well, he could feel the medic's hands on his wounds, he could feel the cold chill of the solvent as the air attacked the liquid.

Yet, he was empty. Not a shine in the sky of his spark. His very core had blown out in a huff like a birthday candle.

..._Birthday_ candle...

The hitch of a vent...

Prowl wilted over his own lap and wept. Ratchet sombrely patted his shoulder as he grieved.

It had taken less than two joors for Iacon to be nothing but a massive clump of burning buildings and gaping holes. An entire city, Cybertron's_Capital_. Was nothing but ashes and dust? The Decepticons had set a plan to finally attack. A major attack. They'd won. The Autobots had fled the planet.

Now they had to pick up the pieces. There was no telling how long the Decepticons would be able to hold the dying planet. Sooner or later, they would be forced to leave.

But for now? Most of the Decepticon minors were out searching the rubble. Stacking bodies on top of one another as they searched for any survivors. Those who did turn up alive, were either put in cuffs or if deemed weak, were shot on the spot.

Two large blue orbs watch this happen from the cover of a half-crumpled shed. Bluestreak crouched lowly behind the half open door, his spark racing from the events he had narrowly gotten away from.

He remembered being in the middle of an addition problem when an alert fell over the school's intercoms. Everyone was just so shocked at the sudden, unplanned warning. They had all stood there _gawking_ for a good second as it sunk in. Then they took action.

It seemed hiding in cupboards or underground was not an option. There was, however, a cellar in which under the classrooms.

On the _bottom_ floor.

Bluestreak had been lucky enough to be one of the few active classes that had been occupying the bottom section.

Though... When the bombs hit, he went bleak with horror, he hardly remembered how he'd managed to crawl out of that burning exit alive. The floor had literally cave in, he'd seen his classmates and loved teachers die before his innocent optics, crushed beneath the very floor they spent most of their time on.

He had been so terrified, that he fled for his very life. Fight or flight instinct had activated, and he chose the latter.

He'd climbed through the rubble, in the climax of the bombing, Bluestreak had ran primus only knew how far, until he could no longer press on.

This shed had proven its worth. He'd buried himself beneath the various items.

And there he was, alive during the aftermath, smoke rose in streams from the quenched fires, the air smelt sickly of death and burned energon. So many other smells- none he liked. The atmosphere was so dark, a laser light could not have been seen through it.

He was terrified. Big mean mechs marched and shot the weaker ones. Not even caring as to who they were, the life's they had- the sparklings, the ranks...Bluestreak, from his obscure cover, had seen a few other sparklings dragged off in cuffs.

He had also seen _far_ more _Sparklings_executed.

In different ways, it seemed. The Decepticons were getting creative in picking and choosing. It was like those precious lives were nothing more than play toys.

Bluestreak didn't want to go where the cuffed ones were going. Some went down kicking and screaming, others bowed their helms in defeat and walked with their escorting Decepticon. Bluestreak may have been young but he wasn't stupid. Growing up with his older brother provided enough opportunities to learn as it was.

His brother...

Where _was_ his brother?

Careful optics slid across the outside scene before him, not recognizing a thing aside from the school's distant still emerging form. Had he even known? Was... Was Prowl dead?

Crystal blue coolant pooled at the very tips of his optics, the thought alone crushed his spark enough to physically feel the pain. Panicked hands came up and grabbed the seams of his spark chamber. He put a little pressure from his palms, trying to nub the pain away.

No... He wasn't dead. Prowl _couldn't die_. He said so himself. He said he would never leave like... Like sire and carrier had...

Did... Did he get murdered too?

A flash of white blinded him for a single moment, a moment sudden enough to set the uneasy sparkling into squealing like some kind of earth creature, and flailing back. Bluestreak's door wings collided with a few stacks of rusted white sheet metal, sending the pile toppling atop him, clattering with such a noise that afterwards, the dead silence around him had gone even quieter.

He laid still, spark pounding, body aching beneath the metal. Scrapes and cuts met nothing to him while raw fear of being seen, scampered up his arms and legs. It swiftly turned his spark into a racers engine.

"I smell importance." Bluestreak's vents hitched. The voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Smooth, deadly. Obviously evil. His door wings trembled despite his desperate attempts to stop their wiggling. Pede fall fell ever closer to his position. For Bluestreak, it'd been the only noise.

"_Told_ ya I saw sommem' Swindle. Jus' a little glow in the dark." Came a proud second voice. This one duller then the first, the accent proved his lack of decent vocabulary. Though, Bluestreak was a bit too young to understand the true differences of speech.

"Maybe if we snatch this one up before Onslaught notices, we can get a good price offa him." Continued the one known as Swindle. Bluestreak pressed as far back as he dared whilst trying to remain as quiet as botly possible.

"Always' thinkin' about them prices." The second voice, whom was known as Brawl, sighed out. With a shake to his visored helm, Brawl stepped into the small shed. He ripped the door right off the side to make room for himself. While the noise sounded, Bluestreak crawled further back into the unknown.

"Come on out, Kid." Swindle coaxed, he chuckled bitterly, the kind of patched laugh that sent shivers crawling up and down Bluestreak's spinal strut. "I won't hurt you... Much." Metal clanged, it was obvious that Swindle had thrown a slab of something aside, as the two pressed into the relatively small storage shed in their 'delicate' search.

Bluestreak swore he, and everyone around him could hear his panicked pants. His engine choked and literally sobbed at him. The two Decepticons knew he was there. He was literally too loud to not be noticed. But his fear had rendered him useless to stop the tremors, the racing engine, the hard breaths and pants...

He hugged himself: knowing this had to be it. He'd be shot, like everyone else. He'd be dead, never see his brother again. Never know the true meaning of life. He'd be killed so young his processor would be wasted. A life... _Another_ precious life...

"GOTCHA!" The call was so loud,

So savage. That Bluestreak hadn't the time to move away when the metal slab above him was suddenly taken away. He felt bared, and naked to view as two deadly red optics stared down at him merciless greed. Lubricant protocols were activated from the fright. The youngling leaked himself from stone cold fear, as Swindle reached in and grabbed up.

"Ah, _sick_. He leaked himself." Swindle drawled grossly, holding the squirming sparkling out like he had some kind of rust virus. Bluestreak for his part kicked and wiggled. Tiny servos gripping helplessly at his captor's digits, he wailed. "LET ME GO!" And "PUT ME DOWN." Repetitively, in panicked succession. Whilst Brawl, and Bluestreak's holder, laughed mockingly at his peril. Their sparks as cold and cruel as the Demon's that possessed their optics.

"Calm..." Swindle soothed, the smooth coax was obviously mocking and fake. It did not fill Bluestreak with hope or comfort like such tone should have, but, instead, it stuffed him with anxiety and dismay. Swindle kept a strong servo clipped around Bluestreak's abdomen, before disgust at the leakage caused him to switch his hold. The Decepticon dealer used poor Bluestreak's already damaged wings as some kind of briefcase holder, as he lifted him in the air and held him out to drip-dry.

Bluestreak immediately yelped in pain at his door wings being handled in such a way: it was utterly painful to have such sensitive necessities handled in such a careless method. He grunted, and groaned, but quickly ceased his actions when Swindle jerked him harshly. Bluestreak's tiny hands came up to block his screams; his processor was thinking straight enough to keep him quiet to avoid complications with the evil mech holding him.

"I like the looks of him." Swindle heated haughtily to his partner. He rotated the shaking, stiff, and nearly unresponsive Bluestreak in inspection. He was dangled helplessly before the white combiners devilish face, Brawl came around the side, and soon the sparkling found himself staring into two pairs of crimson optics.

"Yeh. Thought we killed the lass'a them doorwingers." Brawl remarked, his mask and visor making it impossible to tell if he was impressed with the child or not. His helm, however, was tilted with slight curiosity. Swindle smirked at his partner in response, sharp dentia bared deviously.

"Ooooh, I don't mind a last survivor. We'll have to take extra good care of him..." He looked Bluestreak straight in the optics. "Won't we?" The smooth, dreadful honeyed croon, along with those teasing optics, were enough to send wrack after wrack of shivers down the terrified bot's frame.

Last survivor?

What was this about… killing the doorwingers?

Impossible! Prowl had doorwings! Just like him! And they were still alive!

Dread caused Bluestreak to snap his optics shut tightly. Somewhere in his processor he thought the lack of sight would make the mean mechs unhand him and go away.

However, this was reality. And he had no clue that this morning, when he woke up to a happy birthday from his brother, that this would happen.

On his birthday, no less.

The anxiety and fear inside him kept the tiny paraxian from speaking, or fighting back. It kept him from moving harshly though the tiny trembles could not be helped.

"We GOTTA convince Onslaught to let us keep him." Swindle mused. Somehow already knowing the answer. Brawl proved to be quite the depressing 'con, however, when he added in...

"It ain't up to Onslaught, ain't it Lord Megatron's choice on who gets what?" Swindle's happy look changed, his optics dulled but his grip on Bluestreak never loosened. While the dealer pondered upon Brawl's words, Bluestreak tried desperately to block out their haunting voices. Somehow he knew he'd never be able to purge their unique voices from his processor coding. Even in such a little time, he knew he'd always remember.

Over and over, while they spoke to one another, Bluestreak chanted in his mind. 'Prowls gonna come save me. He's not dead, he would save me, like any brother would!' But it seemed... The more he thought about it, the further away it stretched from his reach.

"~A pet store a get'um a collar." Brawl provoked, a tainted laugh accompanied his words. Bluestreak had only heard the last part to the sentence, but he hadn't a need to hear it all. The doorwinger found himself mumbling by the words. He did not protest to this, however. The numbness spread to his doorwings, where he could no longer feel the yanking strain in the hinges latch.

Why... Why would they want to put a_collar_ on him? He wasn't a turbo-hound.

And why did they talk to them like he wasn't there?

Did his opinion even matter here?

The two constructions continued to banter back and forth about their new prize and the goals sent to attain full custody of it. But Bluestreak found he could not bear to follow the conversation. He didn't want to hear what they were planning. Why would he?

They carried him from the once cover of that burned shed and that was when the doorwinger got a full view of just what the area around him looked like. It passed in Blurr's, he could hardly focus on any of it. His tiny systems were not used to the strain of the day's events.

He felt himself slowly drifting away until he forgot all together that this day was even his birthday. The scene before him went black, and he felt himself pressed against a hot, tainted chassis.

It was then, in his most uncomfortable state, that Bluestreak remembered something his dear brother had once said. He told Bluestreak this one day out of the blue, it hadn't made sense to him oh so long ago, but now... He understood.

'_If you ever find yourself in the hands of your enemy; Do not protest. Do not fight back unless you are certain you will win. You never know what they have planned for you, but be prepared, because you'll never know how badly your actions will affect them, and what they will do to you. Never give up. Never let your processor stray. War is coming and one day you'll need these words. One day you'll be in trouble with no one to help you, Bluestreak. For me, please remember this. It'll keep you alive, it'll help you survive.' _

And he did.

Bluestreak had memorized, and understood every single word his brother had said. Prowl's advice was not to be taken lightly.

"Well, he's well behaved." Mused that smooth voice Bluestreak would only ever identify as Swindle. The paraxian had jumped from the sudden direct attention. But otherwise he did not respond. It was not directed towards him.

"Lucky us." Brawl uttered, sounding more than a bit upset that there would be no trouble with this one. The sadistic bastard, he was practically begging the sparkling to do something wrong.

Dazed out: the hints of blackness tinted the outer regions of Bluestreak's optics. His processor felt... Well, it didn't hurt, too bad, it just felt strained. Like that feeling you got after you wake from a black out. It distracted him from the Constructicons chatter.

However, the light soon resumed and Bluestreak found himself looking straight out into the world around him once more. The two of them had done quite some walking, giving, Bluestreak could not recognize where exactly he was.

Then again... The state of the city was so bad, he probably wouldn't be able to recognize it if someone had told him exactly where they were.

There was more than a ton of oxidized smoke rising in thick white, black, and yellow clouds. They rose from the quelled fires and into the air, the entire city looked coated with a dense layer of pure white mist. The streets- those that were visible, looked like the untamed wilderness, wilderness that had been set directly in the path of an active volcano.

The sparkling hadn't realized how many 'bots had inhabited this section of the city- the little bird in the back of his processor told him that the damage did not limit to just the immediate area.

Bodies.

He'd never seen so many bodies.

_Everywhere_.

Bent, burned, torn, dismembered, melted, shredded, gashed, shot, you name it, it was there. Bluestreak had never seen such a mass collection of wounds and fatalities before. Nasty dis-coloured energon ran and coated the streets, it reminded Bluestreak vaguely of that energon creak that flowed behind Prowl's home...

Well, if the creak had a sudden spark attack and exploded- and imploded, everywhere.

There was really no other way to describe it.

Bits and pieces of major words fluttered in and out of the mechlets audios. Unknown sounds, random screams. It was all so distant in his mind. It proved as a worthy distraction from the two Decepticons currently 'escorting' him to Primus knew where.

It was weird, how, they did not seem to smell the death in the air- or taste the chemicals lingering in the atmosphere. They didn't even _notice_the lifeblood they were treading in, they didn't seem to _care_ when it stuck to their pedes.

It made Bluestreak sick.

How could... How could they _not_ be disgusted?

Could they not feel guilt for what they had done?

No remorse?

Behind them, a loud gunshot pierced the short silence.

No... _Mercy_?

He couldn't wrap his small, not so innocent anymore processor around it. He couldn't fathom just why someone would do this, why would someone hurt so many people... Like this? And what for?

Wait- Where _were_ they going?

He could no longer ignore that foreboding feeling he got as they neared the edge of the city. They came to a bridge that was somehow still intact. However, unknown to Bluestreak, Prowl had been on that exact bridge, fighting to get to him, mere hours before hand.

The mechlet could do nothing but accept his fate. What else could he do? He was too weak to fight back. He didn't want to get hurt, so why would he protest? He'd have to keep his brother's caring words in his processor, and remain completely submissive. From this point on he had to make a decision: a tough one. Nothing would ever be the same.

Whether or not his brother was alive or deactivated, he had to put his processor in survival mode. He could get through this.

He didn't have to be afraid, but he was. He was just a young, seven vorn old sparkling. But he couldn't afford to show weakness. This was his life that was on the line. And he really didn't want to die. He had so much more to live for.

This would make him stronger. He could do this, for Prowl. He could be tough, just like him.

But... how long would it last?

_Brother, Don't be afraid of the _

_ flames it's just your~_

_ Birthday candle. _

_ Just blow them out and make a _

_ wish to your~_

_ Guardian angels. _

_ I may not be here for eternity, _

_ But remember me when you feel _

_ the heat, From that,_

_ Birthday candle. _

_ With it you can handle. _

_ Anything._

_ Brother, Blow out your candle,_

_ For me._

Sent from my iPhone

* * *

From: threespeedsnc  
Subject: Rawr  
Date: Fri, 24 Apr 2015 14:53:32 -0400  
To: Charlotte-web76 .uk

[P] Chapter 2 [U-E]

**Herro! Welcome to another chapter of this traumatizing little piece here- I forgot to mention in the first chapter that I do NOT own transformers. So lets make that clear. I don't own transformers. Never have, and I never will. **

**Aside from that, I enjoyed the feed back a few if you gave me, though, it wasn't nearly as much as I expected. I'm not going to complain. I'm just here to provide entertainment. ;) **

**Anyway. As you'll tell from now on this story will be set in the past. Ya'll gonna have to wait to see what happened after the first chapters bit. Don't fret, however! You will get to see the end for this one! **

**All songs lyrics, otherwise stated, are owned by me and are personally created for this fanfiction. I do not own transformers. I own the plot, though. **

**Enjoy the second chapter and leave a review! However small- I'd like to see how I'm doing! **

_No sound or racket no chime of a _

_ bell._

_ What have I seen,_

_ What does this mean?_

_ Is the world blackened or am I in _

_ Hell?_

_ Is this a dream? _

_ And Why can't I scream? _

_ My throat it tightens and I know _

_ quite well. _

_ I hadn't forseen_

_ This disaster seen,_

_ And now I suffer the lies that he _

_ tells, _

_ He yells, oh, he yells._

_ Welcome to hell._

Self awareness slowly crept through the black haze of his processor, his body felt light with the tiny tingles that sizzled around in his wires. All systems reboot flashed blinding red in his vision, before Prowl knew it, he was staring up at an orange celeing.

Monatures beeped around him, the smell of burnt energon and paint hit his oil factory sensors. His nasalridge curled up, his lip soon followed suit.

First processes thought: Prowl had only seen this medical bay once before. The orange walls were ubmistakeable, he was on the _Ark_.

...why was he on the _Ark_?

Prowl groaned as he pushed himself up into a sitting postion. Those once blurry figures became clear again as his optics adjusted. He saw medics, a few he knew off hand, some he didnt regonize. He did, however, see one medic that he knew quite well.

"Ratchet." The wince was eminent, Prowls voice sounded like it had taken to many trips to the grinder. He cleared his throat hard.

Ratchet turned from a patient, his name called. His face flashed with irritation for a single moment, before he abadoned his post and walked towards Prowls medical berth. The previous wounded Autobot was soon being attended too once more, by he whom Prowl knew was First Aid.

"Ratchet?" Prowl hummed again, this time clearer, the medic shushed him shortly before checking to make sure every tube was still in place.

"Prowl, You have third degree burns from your pedes up, you shouldn't be moving." Black servos gently, but warningly, 'helped' Prowl back into his laying postion. The doorwinger huffed, once white and black, but now silver door wings flattening against the metal painfully.

Prowl's thoughts were just now settling in, there had been a bombing... An attack. The last thing he remembered...

"Bluestreak!" Jolting up, The young Prowl struggled to scamper from the berth top. Ratchet had been there however, expecting, with a push he pinned the twisting rookie down to the cold metal.

"Prowl, listen to me. Remain still or I will restrain you." However panicked Prowl had been, at the verbal threat from the medic black and white knew better. He ceased his struggling and flattened stiffly against the mediberth.

Formulating words seamed the biggest problem for him. Prowl was usually good when it came to speaking. However, he _WAS_ a mech, not a drone. All he could feel was worry and shock for his little brother. It was overwhelming.

"Ratchet. Bluestreak. Where's Bluestreak?" A grim look passed briefly on his superiors face. Dread crept into his systems from the very air around him. The look was a nano-click long but Prowl had still caught it. His vocalizer seamed to freeze solid, tightening it to the point where it was hard and hurt to swallow.

"I don't know what happened to him Prowl. We had orders to fall back. The seekers leveled Iacon in minuets. We were out numbered... Ironhide was on his way here, to the _Ark_, when he found you." The medic leaned over with a tube of sovient and a cloth. He began to swipe a clear coat onto Prowls burn wounds. The touch was oddly comforting to Prowl, who's, processor was on the verge of crashing.

"We have to go back." Prowl mumbled, unsure at first. But after a quick second thought Prowl was soon repeating this sentance, louder, more firm. a couple wounded autobots gazed across the room at his voice.

"We can't go back, were in deep space. I know it's hard but get ahold of yourself! The war just hit its starting point. If we go back it'll be a swift ending, and a pathetic history." Ratchet shook Prowl briefly, a bit too roughly. The slight worrysome pain that lit up his systems from the wake up shake, did in fact cause him to snap his mouth shut and calm down, at least, just a little bit.

Though, Prowl could not help the zoned out gaze that crossed his features when Ratchets words finally sunk in.

They sunk in, deep in. Strait down into the blackness of his processor they burn themselves into his files like scorching hot melting metal.

Everything just went... Blank. He felt nothing. Well, he could feel the medics hands on his wounds, he could feel the cold chill of the sovient as the air attacked the liquid.

Yet, he was empty. Not a shine in the sky of his spark. His very core had blown out in a huff like a birthday candle.

..._Birthday_ candle...

The hitch of a vent...

Prowl wilted over his own lap and wept. Ratchet somberly patted his shoulder as he grieved.

It had taken less the two joors for Iacon to be nothing but a massive clump of burning buildings and gaping holes. An entire city, Cybertrons_Captiol_ . Was nothing but ashes and dust. The Decepticons had set a plan to finally attack. A major attack. They'd won. The autobots had fled the planet.

Now they had to pick up the pieces. There was no telling how long the Decepticons would be able to hold the dying planet. Sooner or later, they would be forced to leave.

But for now? Most of the Decepticon minors were out searching the rubble. Stacking bodies ontop of one another as they searched for any survivors. Those who did turn up alive, were either put in cuffs or if weak enough, shot on the spot.

Two large blue orbs watch this happen from the cover of a half-crumpled shed. Bluestreak crouched lowly behind the half open door, his spark racing from the events he had narrowly gotten away from.

He remembered being in the middle of an addition problem when an alert fell over the school's intercoms. Everyone was just so shocked at the sudden, unplanned warning. They had all stood there _gawking_ for a good second as it sunk in. Then they took action.

It seamed hiding in cubbords or underground was not an was, however, a cellar in which laid under the classrooms.

On the _bottom_ floor.

Bluestreak had been lucky enough to be one of the few active classes that had been occupying the bottom section.

Though... When the bombs hit, he went bleak with horror, he hardly remembered how he'd managed to crawl out of that burning exit alive. The floor had literally cave in, he'd seen his classmates and loved teachers die before his innocent optics, crushed beneath the very floor they spent most of their time on.

He had been so terrified, that he fled for his very life. Fight or flight instinct had activated, and he chose the latter.

He'd climbed through the rubble, in the climax of the bombing, Bluestreak had ran primus only knew how far, until he could no longer press on.

This shed had proven its worth. He'd burried himself beneath the virous items.

And there he was, alive during the aftermath, smoke rose in streams from the quenched fires, the air smelt sickly of death and burned energon. So many other smells- none he liked. The atmosphere was so dark, a lazer light could not have been seen through it.

He was terrified. Big mean mechs marched and shot the weaker ones. Not even caring as to who they were, the life's they had- the sparklings, the ranks...Bluestreak, from his obscure cover, had seen a few other sparklings dragged off in cuffs.

He had also seen _far_ more _Sparklings _executed.

In different ways, it seamed. The Decepticons were getting creative in picking and choosing. It was like those precious lives were nothing more then play toys.

Bluestreak didn't want to go where the cuffed ones were going. Some went down kicking and screaming, others bowed their helms in defeat and walked with their escorting Decepticon. Bluestreak may have been young but he wasn't stupid. Growing up with his older brother provided enough oppertinuties to learn as it was.

His brother...

Where _was_ his brother?

Careful optics slid across the outside scene before him, not recognizing a thing aside from the school's distant still embering form. Had he even known? Was... Was Prowl dead?

Crystal blue coolant pooled at the very tips of his optics, the thought alone crushed his spark enough to physically feel the pain. Panicked hands came up and grabbed the seams of his spark chamber. He put a little pressure from his palms, trying to nub the pain away.

No... He wasn't dead. Prowl _couldn't_ die. He said so himself. He said he would never leave like... Like sire and carrier had..

Did... Did he get murdered too?

A flash of white blinded him for a single moment, a moment sudden enough to set the uneasy sparkling into squealing like some kind of earth creature, and flailing back. Bluestreak's door wings collided with a few stacks of rusted white sheet metal, sending the pile toppling atop him, clattering with such a noise that afterwords, the dead silence around him had gone even quieter.

He laid still, spark pounding, body aching beneath the metal. Scrapes and cuts met nothing to him while raw fear of being seen, scampered up his arms and legs. It swiftly turned his spark into a racers engine.

"I smell importance." Bluestreaks vents hitched. The voice seamed to come out of no where. Smooth, deadly. Obviously evil. His door wings trembled despite his desperate attempts to stop their wiggling. Pede fall fell ever closer to his position. For Bluestreak, it'd been the only noise.

"_Told_ ya I saw sommem' Swindle. Jus' a little glow in the dark." Came a proud second voice. This one duller then the first, the accent proved his lack of decent vocabulary. Though, Bluestreak was a bit too young to understand the true differences of speech.

"Maybe if we snatch this one up before Onslaught notices, we can get a good price offa him." Continued the one known as Swindle. Bluestreak pressed as far back as he dared whilst trying to remain as quiet as botly possible.

"Always' thinkin' about them prices." The second voice, whom was known as Brawl, sighed out. With a shake to his visored helm, Brawl stepped into the small shed. He ripped the door right off the side to make room for himself. While the noise sounded, Bluestreak crawled further back into the unknown.

"Come on out, Kid." Swindle coaxed, he chuckled bitterly, the kind of patched laugh that sent shivers crawling up and down Bluestreaks spinal strut. "I won't hurt you... Much." Metal clanged, it was obvious that Swindle had thrown a slab of something aside, as the two pressed into the relatively small storage shed in their 'delicate.' Search.

Bluestreak swore he, and everyone around him could hear his panicked pants. His engine choked and literally sobbed at him. The two Decepticons knew he was there. He was literally to loud to not be noticed. But his fear had rendered him useless to stop the tremors, the racing engine, the hard breaths and pants...

He hugged himself: knowing this had to be it. He'd be shot, like everyone else. He'd be dead, never see his brother again. Never know the true meaning of life. He'd be killed so young his processor would be wasted. A life... _Another_ precious life...

"GOTCHA!" The call was so loud,

So savage. That Bluestreak hadn't the time to move away when the metal slab above him was suddenly taken away. He felt bared, and naked to view as two deadly red optics stared down at him merciless greed. Lubricant protocalls were activated from the fright. The youngling leaked himself from stone cold fear, as Swindle reached in and grabbed up.

"Ah, _sick_. He leaked himself." Swindle drawled grossly, holding the squirming sparkling out like he had some kind of rust virus. Bluestreak for his part kicked and wiggled. Tiny servos gripping helplessly at his captors digits. He wailed. "LET ME GO!" And "PUT ME DOWN." Repetivley, in panicked succession. Whilst Brawl, and Bluestreaks holder, laughed mockingly at his peril. Their sparks as cold and cruel as the Demons that possessed their optics.

"Calm..." Swindle soothed, the smooth coax was obviously mocking and fake. It did not fill Bluestreak with hope or comfort like such tone should have, but, instead, it stuffed him with anxiety and dismay. Swindle kept a strong servo clipped around Bluestreaks abdomen, before disgust at the leakage caused him to switch his hold. The Decepticon dealer used poor Bluestreaks already damaged wings as some kind of breifcase holder, as he lifted him in the air and held him out to drip-dry.

Bluestreak immedetly yelped in pain at his door wings being handled in such a way: it was utterly painful to have such sensitive necessities handled in such a careless way. He grunted, and groaned, but quickly ceased his actions when Swindle jerked him harshly. Bluestreaks tiny hands came up to block his screams; his processor was thinking strait enough to keep him quiet to avoid complications with the evil mech holding him.

"I like the looks of him." Swindle heated haughtily to his partner. He rotated the shaking, stiff, and nearly unresponsive Bluestreak in inspection. He was dangled helplessly before the white combiners devilish face, Brawl came around the side, and soon the sparkling found himself staring into two pairs of crimson optics.

"Yeh. Thought we killed the lass'a them doorwingers." Brawl Remarked, his mask and visor making it impossible to tell if he was impressed with the child or not. His helm, however, was tilted with slight cirosity. Swindle smirked at his partner in response, sharp dentia bared deviously.

"Ooooh, i don't mind a last survivor. Well have to take extra good care of him..." He looked Bluestreak strait in the optics. "Won't we?" The smooth, dreadful honeyed croon, along with those teasing optics, were enough to send wrack after wrack of shivers down the terrified 'bots frame.

Last survivor?

What was this about... Killing the doorwingers?

Impossible! Prowl had doorwings! Just like him! And they were still alive!

Dread caused Bluestreak to snap his optics shut tightly. Somewhere in his processor he thought the lack of sight would make the mean mechs unhand him and go away.

However, this was reality. And he had no clue that this morning, when he woke up to a happy birthday from his brother, that this would happen.

On his birthday, no less.

The anxiety and fear inside him kept the tiny paraxian from speaking, or fighting back. It kept him from moving harshly though the tiny trembles could not be helped.

"We GOTTA convince Onslaught to let us keep him." Swindle mused. somehow already knowing the answer. Brawl proved to be quite the depressing 'con, however, when he added in...

"It ain't up to Onslaught, ain't it Lord Megatrons choice on who gets what?" Swindles happy look changed, his optics dulled but his grip on Bluestreak never loosened. While the dealer pondered upon Brawls words, Bluestreak tried despestley to block out their haunting voices. Somehow he knew he'd never be able to purge their unique voices from his processor coding. Even in such a little time, he knew he'd always remember.

Over and over, while they spoke to one another, Bluestreak chanted in his mind. 'Prowls gonna come save me. He's not dead, he would Save me, like any brother would!' But it seamed... The more he thought about it, the further away it stretched from his reach.

"~A pet store an get'um a collar." Brawl provoked, a tainted laugh accompanied his words. Bluestreak had only heard the last part to the sentance, but he hadn't a need to hear it all. The doorwinger found himself nummed by the words. He did not protest to this, however. The numbness spread to his doorwings, where he could no longer feel the yanking strain in the hinges latch.

Why... Why would they want to put a_collar_ on him? He wasn't a turbo-hound.

And why did they talk to them like he wasn't there?

Did his opinion even matter here?

The two constructions continued to banter back and forth about their new prize and the goals sent to attain full custody of it. But Blustreak found he could not bare to follow the conversation. He didn't want to hear what they were planning. Why would he?

They carried him from the once cover of that burned shed, it was then when the doorwinger got a full view of just what the area around him looked like. It passed in blurr's, he could hardly focus on any of it. His tiny systems were not used to the strain of the day's events.

He felt himself slowly drifting away until he forgot all together that this day was even his birthday. The scene before him went black, and he felt himself pressed against a hot, tainted chassis.

It was then, in his most uncomfortable state, that Bluestreak remembered something his dear brother had once said. He told Bluestreak this one day out of the blue, it hadn't made sense to him oh so long ago, but now.. He understood.

'_If you ever find yourself in the hands of your enemy. Do not protest. Do not fight back unless you are certin you will win. You never know what they have planned for you, but be prepared, because you'll never know how badly your actions will affect them, and what they will do to you. Never give up. Never let your processor stray. War is coming and one day you'll need these words. One day you'll be in trouble with no one to help you. Bluestreak. For me, please remember this. It'll keep you alive, it'll help you survive.' _

And he did.

Bluestreak had memorized, and understood every single word his brother had said. Prowls advice was not to be taken lightly.

"Well, he's well behaved." Mused that smooth voice Bluestrak would only ever identify as Swindle. The paraxian had jumped from the sudden direct attention. But otherwise he did not respond. It was not directed towards him.

"Lucky us." Brawl uttered, sounding more then a bit upset that there would be no trouble with this one. The sadistic bastard, he was practically begging the sparkling to do something wrong.

Dazed out: the hints of blackness tinted the outer regions of Bluestreaks optics. His processor felt... Well, it didnt hurt, to bad, it just felt strained. Like that feeling you got after you wake from a black out. It destracted him from the Constructicons chatter.

However, the light soon resumed and Bluestreak found himself looking strait out into the world around him once more. The two of them had done quite some walking, giving, Bluestreak could not regonize where exactly he was.

Then again... The state of the city was so bad, he probably wouldn't be able to regonize it if someone had told him exactly were they were.

There was more then a ton of oxidized smoke rising in thick white, black, and yellow clouds. They rose from the quelled fires and into the air, the entire city looked coated with a dense layer of pure white mist. The streets- that, which was visable, looked like the untamed wilderness, wilderness that had been set directly in the path of an active volcano.

The sparkling hadn't realized how many 'bots had inhabited this section of the city- the little bird in the back of his processor told him that the damage did not limit to just the immedate area.

Bodies.

He'd never seen so many bodies.

_Everywhere_.

Bent, burned, torn, dismembered, skinned, melted, shredded, gashed, shot, you name it, it was there. Bluestreak had never seen such a mass cherade of wounds and fatalities before. Nasty dis-colored energon ran and coated the streets, it reminded Bluestreak vagley of that energon creak that flowed behind Prowls home...

Well, if the creak had a sudden spark attack and exploded- and imploded, everywhere.

There was really no other way to describe it.

Bits an peices of major words fluttered in and out of the mechlets audios. Unknown sounds, random screams. It was all so distant in his mind. It proved as a worthy distraction form the two Decepticons currently 'escorting' him to, primus knew where.

It was weird, how, they did not seam to smell the death in the air- or taste the chemicals lingering in the atmosphere. They didn't even _notice_the lifeblood they were tredding in, they didn't seam to _care_ when it stuck to their pedes.

It made Bluestreak sick.

How could... How could they _not_ be disgusted?

Could they not feel guilt for what they had done?

No remorse?

Behind them, a loud gunshot pierced the short silence.

No... _Mercy_?

He couldn't wrap his small, not so innocent anymore processor around it. He couldn't fathom just why someone would do this, why would someone hurt so many people... Like this? And what for?

Wait- Where _were_ they going?

He could no longer ignore that foreboding feeling he got as they neared the edge of the city. They came to a bridge that was somehow still intact. However, unknown to Bluestreak, Prowl had been on that exact bridge, fighting to get to him, mere hours before hand.

The mechlet could do nothing but accept his fate. What else could he do? He was too weak to fight back. He didn't want to get hurt, so why would he protest? He'd have to keep his brothers caring words in his processor, and remain completley submissive. From this point on he had to make a decision: a tough one. Nothing would ever be the same.

Wether or not his brother was alive or deactivated, he had to put his processor in survival. He could get through this.

He didn't have to be afraid, but he was. He was just a young, seven vorn old sparkling. But He couldn't afford show weakness. This was his life that was on the line. And he really didn't want to die. He had so much more to live for.

This would make him stronger. He could do this, for Prowl. He could be tough, just like him.

But... how long would it last?

_Brother, Dont be afraid of the _

_flames it's just your~_

_Birthday candle. _

_Just blow them out and make a_

_wish to your~_

_Guardian angels._

_I may not be here for eternity, _

_But remember me when you feel _

_the heat, From that,_

_Birthday candle. _

_With it you can handle. _

_Anything._

_Brother, Blow out your candle,_

_For me._


End file.
